


War Wounds

by Missy



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, Oral Sex, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-01
Updated: 2011-08-01
Packaged: 2017-10-22 02:07:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Michael lick each other's wounds - among other things</p>
            </blockquote>





	War Wounds

**Author's Note:**

> Written For Porn Battle XII, prompt: Burn Notice, Sam/Michael, scars, beer. thank you to Amber for Beta!

“Where did you get this one?”

Sam glanced over his shoulder at Michael, putting down the bottle of beer he’d been nipping from. They’d just finished fucking and the sweat wasn’t even dried on his back. “Took some shrapnel in Iraq,” Sam explained, as Michael traced a long, thin mark that ran its way across Sam’s inner left thigh.

“You never talked about the war,” Michael pointed out. “I was bedded down in Tikrit for six months before they pulled me out.” He gave one of his sarcastic Westen smirks, tickling Sam’s calf.

He didn’t want to talk about the war. “What about that?” Sam traced an angry red mark bisecting Michael’s right hip.

“Remember that bail jumper I helped Fi out with last week? I got caught up on a wire fence. And I thought I cleaned it up…” Sam ran strong, long, beer-chilled fingers down the mark, turning Michael’s flesh to goosebumps. Then they spanned his waist, finding a deeper cut at his spine.

“Where did you get this one?”

His voice was low, soft, and came from the depths of his chest. “A car exploded,” Michael said. “They had me on the table for an hour…” He trailed off. Sam’s finger had slipped down the pale shallow of his tailbone to tease his ass.

But Michael, of course, knew exactly what to do. He bent over Sam with a smirk and picked up the beer, took a swig, craned his neck upward, and opened his mouth; they swapped a gulp of beer between them with greedy swirls of agile tongues – each getting a sweet taste of each other, and the brew.

Michael kissed Sam’s chin, wishing to feel the prickle of his stubble somewhere harder, more private. “Where did you get that?”

“Swing in the face when I was six.” Michael bowed his head and licked Sam’s chest. “I don’t have a scar there.”

But Michael knew better than Sam, kissing the long-healed puncture he’d gotten piercing his nipple for a cover job. The trip down Sam’s long torso ended at the final scar, and he grinned as Michael’s mouth closed over the head of his cock. “Circumcision. I was ten days old.” The overheated lapping of Michael’s tongue swiping against the nerve-heavy bottom of his erection left Sam straining for more, rubbing the freshly-shaved, smooth-skinned chest of his partner against his hair-roughed thighs.

Michael brought him there quickly and kept him hovering on the edge by concentrating on the shaft, tracing veins, licking and teasing instead of sucking. Mercy was the tease of his tongue about the head, the tight, wet luxury of Michael’s throat. He made Sam arch his back and cry out, before taking him effortlessly inside to the balls; one gulp and he lost it.

Michael disengaged expertly, wiping a dollop of come from his chin. “Missed one,” he said, sprawling out over Sam’s body.

Sam kissed the mark Michael’s father had left on his face and sighed.


End file.
